


you bring out the best of me

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookstore Owner Dean, Friends to Lovers, Homeless Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: The first time Dean saw Castiel was in the rain, on the corner of Main and 10th. He'd been meeting Sam for lunch and Cas had been hunched in the doorway of a long since abandoned toy store, a scruffy tan and white dog curled up beside him. No one was even looking at him, but Dean did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> god okay so I've just churned this out in a couple of hours when I should be writing a commission and my pinefest fic because apparently I hate myself :)

 

“When I was homeless,” Cas says one day, like he does sometimes, like it isn't a big deal, just a thing that _was_. “I would both dread and look forward to the rain.”

Dean looks up from where he's counting the cash in the register, pen hovering over his thick red notebook. The rain outside drums heavily on the windows. It's a dark autumn evening, the sky overcast and thick with cloud. Good for business; people are more likely to stop by and browse the books if it's raining. Something about the warm glow of the store and the smell of percolating coffee draws them in, windswept and dripping on Dean’s clean floors.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks. The first time he saw Cas was in the rain, on the corner of Main and 10th. He'd been meeting Sam for lunch and Cas had been hunched in the doorway of a long since abandoned toy store, a scruffy tan and white dog curled up beside him. No one was even looking at him, but Dean did.

“The rain made people more generous,” Cas explains. He’s waiting for Dean to finish, curled up in one of the squashy armchairs, folding his book back so the spine cracks, the way Dean’s begged him not to do a hundred times. “They felt sorry for me. I would get given hot drinks, or five dollars instead of fifty cents. But on the other hand, Grace and I never did like getting wet. The chill… it would cut right through to the bone.”

He stares down at his fingers, flexing them like he’s remembering the cold, and Dean wants to go over and wrap them up in his own hands until they’re warmed through again. He wants to pull Cas towards him, place his hands on Cas’s waist--thicker, now that he’s eating properly again, now that he goes running in the mornings--and wrap him up tight.

Dean puts his pen down. “Do you ever miss it?”

He berates himself immediately after the words are out of his mouth. Of course Cas doesn’t miss being _homeless_ , Jesus, what sort of a question is that. The look on Cas’s face last winter when after nothing more than a few shared coffees and stumbling conversations Dean had offered him a place to crash because a snowstorm was on its way, that wonderment and gratitude, the quiet insistence that he should do something in return, like maybe be Dean’s new coffee guy, work at the bookstore with him, is still imprinted in Dean's brain.

But Cas shrugs. “Sometimes. I miss the soup kitchen, and my friends I used to see there.”

“You could volunteer,” Dean suggests. He knows Cas is giving away more cups of coffee than he's selling at this point anyway; the perpetual stream of down-and-out people they get in the store, who share small, grateful smiles with Cas, is no coincidence. Dean doesn't mind. Cas always looks happy. “I could drop you off, pick you up, whatever. Whenever you want.”

Cas unfolds himself from the chair. He comes over and just stands in front of Dean for a while, absently tapping his long fingers on the counter. It's like he still has trouble sometimes, allowing himself what he wants.

“You wouldn't mind?”

Dean shakes his head. _Anything_ , he wants to say, _I'd do anything if it made you happy_. “Of course not.”

 

 

 

The first time Dean goes inside the soup kitchen is a Sunday. He doesn't usually. It makes him uncomfortable in a way he can't put his finger on. He wonders if in some other state, his dad is sitting at one of these tables, looking just as malnourished and unkempt and lonely. Probably not. John Winchester was never one to accept help.

Still, he's come in today because Cas has been going on and on about the others wanting to meet him, like he's some kind of celebrity just by being Cas’s friend. Which is dumb and makes him kinda antsy. He's even brought the damn dog with him to act as a kind of social barrier, although Grace is way more interested in licking up breadcrumbs from the floor rather than breaking any conversational ice for Dean.

“You don't have to be nervous,” Cas says quietly, taking Dean’s wrist and squeezing it. “I like you. So will they. They just want to meet the person who saved me.”

“Cas,” Dean says weakly.

He's introduced to so many of Cas's friends he loses count when he hits double-digits. They're all kinds of people: old and young, male and female, surly and despondent or upbeat and chatty. It humbles Dean hugely. He gives out money when he can. Some of them refuse to take it, but others clutch it so tightly in their fists Dean's worried they’ll tear it. There's a girl about Sam’s age, with the same stubborn determination in her hazel eyes, who seems to have nothing in her backpack but books. Dean scrawls the store address on a paper napkin and tells her to come by sometime.

He stays for the lunch rush. Cas loops an apron around his neck and tells him to spoon potato leek soup into bowls. Dean spends most of the time watching Cas. This is him in his element. Helping people, caring for them, offering them a smile or a kind word. Everyone seems to know him, and no one seems to mind that he used to belong on the other side of the counter.

When they finally leave it’s because Grace is restless, whining to go for a walk, so instead of getting in the car they head down to the park that wraps around the lake. It's a nice day--a low, autumn sun, red and orange leaves peppering the paths, warm enough for just a jacket. They're quiet for a while, because it's easy to be quiet with Cas in a way that it never has been with anyone else. Dean’s never met anyone like him before, no one’s ever gotten under his skin like this. He trusted him from the start--hell, Victor and Donna had called him crazy, told him Cas would rob him blind in the middle of the night or kill him in his sleep. But Dean had known Cas wasn't like that. He'd seen the way he cared for Grace, the way he sometimes went without to make sure she had food to eat and the way he talked softly to her like she was the only one who’d listen. Dean had fallen so hard he's never quite managed to get back up. They haven’t even kissed yet and he’s so fucking gone.

“You're amazing,” Dean blurts. He didn't mean to. Sometimes his mouth runs away with itself. Cas smiles uncomfortably, like he doesn't believe it for a second.

“I'm not.” He sighs, eyes following Grace as she halfheartedly chases a huge seagull.

“You are.”

“Dean, my father disowned me for refusing to enter the church. It was too late for me to go to college. So I left my family, my security, and ended up living on the streets. No one wanted to employ me. There’s nothing amazing about that.”

Dean stops walking. He can’t--there’s no way Cas doesn’t see how fucking great he is, how kind and compassionate and generous he is. He makes people around him light up. Makes Dean feel like he could do insane shit, like climb mountains or dive out of a plane.

“I’m gonna get real mad at you if you keep talking like that,” he warns, and Cas, only just realizing Dean is no longer beside him, turns back.

“Dean--”

“No, I’m serious, man. You said I saved you but that’s not-- _god_. You gave me… I haven’t stayed late at work in months. My apartment is full of plants now. I actually cook breakfast and do crap like this.” He gestures around them, at the leaves crunching under his feet. He’s loathe to use words like _lonely_ , but damn if that isn’t how he felt before Cas came along. Sure, he has his friends, not to mention Sam, but he was still going home to a cold, empty apartment every night and there was only so many times the others would listen to him talking shit about his day, about difficult customers and the latest trashy romance novels he’s forced to stock his shelves with because they sell, before they laugh and roll their eyes and change the subject.  

There’s none of that with Cas. Cas listens like everything Dean says is important, and Dean tries his hardest to return the favor because everything Cas says _is_ important. Dean still remembers the Cas that sat in the rain and softly asked for spare change and how everyone passing treated him like he was invisible.

“You saved me too, or whatever,” he finally concludes, feeling embarrassed now because Cas is looking at him like he's made of light, like it aches but is important too, and yeah, Dean knows that feeling.

Just for something to do he starts walking again, calling to Grace so she leaves the damn birds alone and follows him, bouncing up at his knees because she's a tiny little terrier cross but thinks she's an Olympic high jumper.

“Wait,” Cas calls, voice a little hoarse, only when he catches up with Dean he does the damndest thing and slides their hands together.

No one’s held his hand in years. And if they did, it didn't feel like this. Cas's palm is warm and dry, his fingers long and wrapped tightly around Dean’s own.

“You don’t--”

But Cas just leans into him, says, “Shush,” so Dean quiets, and their hands stay joined for the rest of the walk. Dean’s skin feels cold and the space behind his ribs feels empty when they finally let go back at the car.

 

 

 

Nothing really changes after that, except for where Dean feels like he's treading on eggshells. They’ve settled into this strange new relationship, glazed with a crystalline fragility, where they don’t talk about it but they sometimes press their foreheads together or hold hands over breakfast or fall asleep tangled up in each other on the couch. Dean goes to the soup kitchen every Sunday now. He’s made friends with a lot of people. The woman who manages it, Jody Mills, gets him baking the bread when Cas tells her that Dean’s a good baker. It’s something he enjoys, experimenting with different recipes in his mom’s old book and seeing what everyone thinks.

“We could add fresh pastries to our coffee stand at the store,” Castiel hums thoughtfully, butter smudged across his chin. He takes another huge bite from the focaccia, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. Dean has to turn away. He fights a sudden desire to stick his head in the oven.

“Yeah, maybe.”

He relaxes when Cas’s hand touches the small of his back. Dean doesn’t know why Cas does it. He’s sweaty and gross from the heat in the kitchen, he stinks like mixed herbs and is kinda greasy from the olive oil. It doesn’t make for a pretty picture. Yet there Cas is. Leaning into him like he doesn’t give a fuck. It makes the muscles in Dean’s stomach jump.

“You’re good at this,” Cas says quietly. He places a soft kiss just behind Dean’s ear and squeezes his forearm. Then he slips away, back out front where people are waiting to talk to him, and Dean’s left in the kitchen feeling like he’s about to combust. He shoves some bread into his mouth so he doesn’t do something idiotic, like call Cas back in and fucking kiss him breathless.

 

 

 

There’s a girl called Claire at the soup kitchen, only just seventeen, that Cas takes under his wing. Dean ends up cooking for three some evenings. He also ends up with a new assistant at the store on weekends. Sam calls him a soft-touch and Victor offers to use his cop privileges to see if she has a record, but Dean tells them both to fuck off. If Cas trusts her, that’s enough for him.

Besides, Claire’s kinda great. She’s a real firecracker, snarky and blunt and calls Dean out on his shit a lot. She moves in with Jody--grudgingly, and only after a hushed conversation with Cas that makes Dean’s heart swell in his chest to see--and so his family keeps growing. Some days Dean looks at Cas and is blindsided by how lucky he feels. It’s dysfunctional, for sure, but on the nights when they all get together at the roadhouse and everyone’s talking over each other and laughing and Cas has got his hand on Dean’s knee under the table, it kinda feels fucking perfect.

 

  

 

The store is always quiet on Tuesdays. Dean doesn't know why. It's rare they get more than a dozen customers, and most of those end up being the browse-and-don't-buy kind. The tiny coffee area remains deserted--Cas sits behind the counter, decorating their plain white cardboard cups with different colored sharpies and humming tunelessly to himself.

Dean's on the store’s ancient PC, browsing the websites of local youth shelters. He's been thinking about it, since meeting Cas and working in the soup kitchen. Thinking about the kids he sees struggling out there, how he and Sam could have been in that position themselves if it wasn't for their dad’s unbreakable determination to drag them around after him, whether that meant them getting caught up in his messes or not. And it makes Dean want to do something--maybe set up a free library of some kind, or run literature discussion groups. He's not sure how many teenagers would be into that, but he figures it's gotta be worth a shot.

It's while he's angrily jamming the ctrl-alt-delete sequence because technology hates him that Cas glances up and says, “I love you.”

Dean stops hitting the keyboard. He also stops breathing. Either the neurons in his brain are massively misfiring or he's having auditory hallucinations because it sounded like Cas just told him--

“You heard me.” Cas is still doodling, the pen scratching over the smooth paper surface of the cup. “I’m not looking for reciprocation, and I don’t want to make things uncomfortable. I just thought you should know.”

Okay, so he didn’t imagine it. Cas is. Cas loves him. Okay. That’s fine. It’s what Dean’s always wanted, right? So why does he feel like he’s going to throw up?

He worries that Cas feels like he owes him. That maybe it isn’t _love_ he’s feeling, but misplaced gratitude. That’s what all the easy touches have been about these last few weeks--Cas trying to repay Dean’s kindness. And what if Dean said he didn’t love him back? What then? Would Cas move out, quit his job and leave Dean’s life as quickly as he came into it? The thought of that makes him feel even sicker. Dean’s known for a while that what he feels for Cas goes beyond friendship or companionship. You don’t think about sucking bruises into your friend’s neck, or illicitly jerk off to the image of blue eyes and thick thighs in the shower.

“Cas, I--”

And of course, because Dean’s life is a shitshow and God is laughing at him, that’s the moment a harried customer bursts into the store and asks Dean to help him find “the latest one of those books that all the teenagers are mad about” for his daughter. By the time Dean’s discovered he’s talking about _The Raven Cycle_ and led him to the appropriate shelf, a good ten minutes has passed and Cas is nowhere to be seen. He’s not behind his counter, not anywhere as far as Dean can see.

Cursing, Dean rings up the man and ushers him out of the store, flipping the open sign behind him. There’s only one place Cas could be, and he’s not getting interrupted again.

The stock room at the back of the store is large enough that they’ve found a space for Grace’s bed and pile of toys, so she can be near them when they’re both at work and also be comfortable. If you ask Dean, the dog’s spoiled rotten, but he’s not about to deny her or Cas anything after all they’ve been through. Sure enough, when Dean opens the door Cas is sat on the floor with Grace in his lap. She’s licking his wrist and he’s smiling at her and fondness surges up inside Dean until he’s crouching on the floor beside them both and saying, “Cas, Cas,” and urging him to look up so he can kiss him.

Cas makes this soft noise, his hand coming up to the back of Dean’s neck. He opens his mouth and then things get even better, deep and lush and hot. It’s perfect. Cas tastes of coffee, rich and dark, and underneath that something sweet and uniquely him. Dean’s always had something of an addictive personality and he can’t see himself ever wanting to give this up.

“Hey,” he mutters, putting an inch or two between them. They’re both breathless. Cas’s cheeks are pink. “Of course it’s reciprocated. I can’t believe you’d think it wasn’t. I haven’t exactly been subtle.”

Something smug quirks Cas’s mouth up at the corner. “I did wonder.”

Dean grins and flicks him in the forehead, and then kisses him again. And again. It’s Grace who finally breaks them apart, her wet nose nudging Dean’s chin as she tries to get in on the action.

They both laugh and Cas kisses the dog on the head. Dean says, “I’ve shut up shop for the afternoon. Let’s go take her for a walk. Then we can go home. Together.”

He kind of worries he sounds like a sappy loser, but if he does Cas clearly doesn’t care. He takes Dean’s hand, thumb rubbing over his knuckles. He looks so happy. “Together,” he echoes.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @ [casfallsinlove](http://casfallsinlove.tumblr.com/)


End file.
